


a resemblance of mercy

by intrepidment



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Season 6, F/M, References to Fight the Future and One-Son, Undercover as a Couple, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25563001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrepidment/pseuds/intrepidment
Summary: They are at a crossroads, Scully decides.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 28
Kudos: 139





	a resemblance of mercy

It begins like this:

She finds out that Mulder is sleeping with Diana Fowley because the latter of the two makes no effort to hide it. Quite the opposite, actually. This fact is made abundantly clear when she bumps into her at a cafe across the road from the FBI building. It is not a coincidence even though it should be—she is sure of this much, at least.

"Morning, Agent Scully. Did you have a nice weekend?" The question is ripe with intent. Scully narrows her eyes in suspicion. Distrust is a natural instinct, borne out of a necessity for self-preservation. But they are waiting in line, and there is nowhere else to go unless she heads out the door without her coffee, so she answers because she refuses to be cowed.

"Yes," she says, curt. She adds, a half-hearted attempt to be polite, not particularly interested in the answer, "And you?"

The smile that graces the other woman's face is smug, victorious. Scully wishes she never asked. It’s a trap. Of course it is. There is nothing to this woman except for lies and secrets and subterfuge—she is a caricature of a movie villain; a mask within a mask. She should’ve known this. She _does_ know this.

And yet.

"My weekend was great—Fox and I had a lovely time at my place."

The implication is clear but she does not falter; not even a flinch. It's almost alarming, how calmly she receives this new piece of information. "I see."

The barista calls for the next customer. Scully approaches the counter with her back straight, and her head held high.

What is the price for happiness? There was a time, once, when Scully thought that regardless of the cost, she could afford it. But then she was abducted, and she lost her sister, and a daughter she didn't even know existed until it was much too late, and now she's not so sure anymore. Certainly though, if the currency is to be measured in time and company, she has spent too much of it on Mulder. She knew, from the very beginning, that the choice to become part of his crusade was to accept that she would be seen as an outcast by everyone else. And yet she accepted the consequences anyway because she trusted him. It never crossed her mind that his trust would ever be placed with a woman that wasn't her.

Until now, that is. Until now.

Mulder keeps his indiscretions to himself. Or, he tries to, anyway. He doesn't talk about Fowley and if that is not an option, he avoids invoking her into conversation by name. Somehow that makes it worse. Through his omission, he is drawing attention to the topic, rather than diverting the focus away from it. If Scully didn’t already know, she’d be able to tell that something was off by his guilty expression, and the way he can’t meet her eyes for days afterwards.

For someone versed in analysing human behaviour, he is acting awfully transparent. Or maybe he does have a poker face and she has become too attuned to him, as he is to her. Maybe.

Privately, Scully hopes that he feels terrible when he’s with Fowley, but she accepts that he probably doesn’t. Because if he did, why would he sleep with her in the first place? More importantly though, why would he keep doing it?

She doesn’t want to know. It is none of her business. But at 2am, there is a knock at the door and when she opens it, Mulder is there.

"What are you doing here?" She does not greet him. Nor does she explain why she is awake as well. She never gets enough sleep—too many thoughts to sift and dwell and ruminate over—but she does sleep. Eventually. It takes time, that's all.

Mulder appears to be stumped by her question. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. "I'm not sure."

“It’s late,” she tells him, after a moment has passed. They've had this conversation before. How many times has he stumbled to her place far later than what is appropriate? Too many times, she thinks. Far too many times.

“I know,” he says. His hair is a mess and his tie is askew over his wrinkled suit. At first glance, she assumes that he is drunk, but then she looks more closely at him. There is a lipstick mark imprinted on the collar of his starched white shirt. Scully stares at it. For a second, she is furious that he decided to come to her, now, of all times. But then her mood settles. Becomes impassive; subdued. It is her default expression these days, when she doesn't know what else to do.

Despite herself, she asks, "Was it worth it?"

Mulder stares at her for a long while. Longer than he has any business to, at this hour of the night. It's a testament to how well they know each other, that he understands what she means without having to elaborate. She finds herself unable to maintain eye contact. She focuses on a spot above his shoulder instead.

"No," he finally admits.

The word sounds like an admission of guilt and she—the judge, the jury, the executioner—bids him goodnight.

In the hallway of his apartment, Mulder tried to kiss her. Then he chose Diana. She tried to forget about it, and bury the moment in the deepest recesses of her mind, but the fact remains: Mulder tried to kiss her, and afterwards, he chose Diana instead.

Their reassignment back to the X-Files is a muted affair.

Scully walks briskly down the hallway with Mulder as they head back to the basement. Their footsteps are off-sync with each other because she is pacing a few steps ahead, unwilling to be left behind. Still, he catches up at the last minute—she is no match against his long legs, after all—and opens the door for her because she is juggling all of her belongings in her arms since she refuses to make a second trip upstairs.

Behind her, she can feel the heat from his hand hovering above her lower back, but he does not make contact.

"Thank you," she says, her voice stiff.

Mulder coughs. "All good."

They unpack. Boxes are opened; papers are reorganised and set aside for later; and the entire office is cleaned and tidied up until there is no longer any visible trace of its former occupants. The entire time, she feels rather than sees Mulder watching her; his presence an unavoidable shadow taking up more space than it should.

She doesn't look at him. Right now, it’s exhausting, being the singular subject of his focus when all she wants is to be left alone. She wants to tell him to stop looking. She wants to yell at him. She wants to ask if he really wants her here, and whether he sees her as a strait-laced unwilling sidekick, instead of an equal, a _partner_ , and to prove it to her if he does because she's not sure she'll believe him otherwise.

But Scully doesn't do any of those things. If she did, it would be an open acknowledgement that something is wrong. So she distracts herself as best as she can. Responds to emails which have been steadily piling up in her inbox on the computer. Flips through a case file, making notes here and there. Tucks her hair behind her ear. Taps the heel of her shoe against the carpet.

She clears her throat. Pointedly.

Mulder continues to watch her.

She knows what he's doing: he is trying to get a read on her, looking for a way back into her good graces. She won't let him though. _You're making this personal._ There was cruelty in the underlying message behind his words. He'd wanted to hurt her, and goddammit, he did. He knew exactly where to plunge and twist the knife so she would bleed most. The statement is still ringing in her ears, loud and clear.

"Scully," he starts, and she can already hear the beginnings of platitudes and pleas and apologies that will most likely skirt around the main issue they've always been so good at pretending isn't there for the sake of their partnership. Their partnership, which has taken an unfortunate beating as of late.

She ignores him.

"Scully," he says again. More determined this time. He even rises from his seat.

To that, she turns her chair deliberately at an angle until it is directed away from him, towards the door. Goes back to work like a proper, responsible agent. Hopes that he will do the same. They both have jobs to do—she’s just playing her part. As should he.

Mulder stops. Sits down again.

The silence settles between them like a fine layer of dust.

Scully holds her breath. Waits for it to pass.

Four newlywed couples with deep pockets and connections in high places have found their valuables and credit details stolen after visiting a high-end spa resort in Phoenix. There is a suspect: the general manager who was seen entering one of the guests' rooms while they were out. It is likely he is working in cahoots with other workers there. Two agents are needed as bait to draw the perp out in the open and catch him in the act. It is not an X-File, but Financial Crimes has lodged an official request for their assistance.

"Their understanding, from what I know," Skinner says, more uncomfortable than Scully has ever seen him, "is that you two are the best candidates for the job."

It seems that their reputation precedes them.

Scully can't help it; she laughs. It is a brittle sound. The edges of it could cut glass. Skinner looks surprised to hear it. "The job meaning going undercover. As newlyweds."

"Is that a problem, Agent Scully?"

She can see Mulder glance at her from the corner of her eye. He is waiting for her to protest and suggest someone—anyone—else. If Diana were here, Mulder would make a holiday out of the case, she knows. The two of them would probably eat and drink and then screw each other senseless in their hotel room until someone filed a noise complaint. Even the thought of it makes her feel sick. If the case will consist of cheerful false facades, tense silences behind closed doors, and enough tension to light a building on fire because she is here instead, so be it. They should suffer together because she is his partner. Here, at least, she is his partner. Not Diana.

"Scully," Mulder says.

Skinner is waiting for her answer.

Scully shakes her head. "When do we fly out?"

"We need to talk."

It's after work. Scully is trying to exit the office; Mulder won't let her. His grip is a hook on her arm, tethering himself to her. If he holds her any tighter, a bruise will bloom, she is sure of it. Scully pries away his fingers, one by one, and they fall away, too easily. "So talk," she says. She offers him nothing else.

Mulder runs his hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated breath. "Is all this because of Diana?"

"All this?" she echoes back at him. Her voice is flat.

There is an undercurrent of fear in his eyes. She imagines that he is a boy again: scared of being abandoned despite building up the necessary walls to go about things alone. He craves the company of others, even though he never admits it. She knows the feeling all too well. Like her, he has been stretched to a breaking point, but Scully is better at hiding this from him. It's the one advantage she has over him. "Scully, you haven't—you barely speak to me anymore. You don't pick up the phone when I call unless you're certain it's about work. There are days where you don't even _look_ at me. Please. Tell me how to fix this."

 _Tell me how to fix this._ He makes it sound so easy. But Scully knows that she could write an instruction manual on how to do exactly that, and she would not expect him to follow a single thing she asked of him. Mulder defies orders, breaks rules, and goes against those in authority, even when he works for them. He doesn't want her to tell him how to fix this; he just wants permission to tape over the broken parts of them and call it a day.

"It's not about Diana," she says. She amends herself. "Not all of it."

He doesn't understand. "If it's not about Diana, then what is this about then?"

"This is about trust," she tells him with an accusatory glare because he's acting like an idiot and he should be smarter than this—he _is_ smarter than this. "It's about accountability. You sided with Diana, and you kept doing it, even when she was wrong and I proved it to you. Every single time I disagreed with you about something, you wandered off with her instead because she's willing to go along with whatever you say. _I'm_ your partner, Mulder, or have you forgotten that? Because if you have, why am I even here?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten," he says quickly. "You're here because I need you, Scully—I've _always_ needed you, I can't—"

"Don't," Scully warns him, cutting him off. "Don't say that you need me when you've done everything to show that you'd rather want me gone. Don't lie to me."

He licks his lips. A nervous tic. "I would never lie to you."

"No," she laughs, but there is no humour to be found in it. "You just omit the truth instead."

"When have I ever done that?"

"You slept with her." _Her._ Diana. She says it matter-of-factly, but he frowns like she said something far worse.

"Are you jealous?"

The silence that follows is deafening. She looks at him sharply.

"What did you say?"

Mulder folds his arms. Doubles down on his words instead of taking it back. "You heard me."

She did. But that isn't the point. It is an insult against her for him to reduce her feelings regarding Diana down to mere jealousy, as if she is a scorned lover. Their relationship is worth more than that. Mulder knows this too, which only makes it worse that he had the gall to ask her that question.

"I can't believe you," Scully manages to say, her voice shaking in anger, and something else she is unwilling to define.

Not now.

She walks out the door before he can stop her again.

The paperwork for the aliases needed for the case arrives at the office the next day. Scully writes _Ed_ for the name Mulder will use—a reminder to him of the time he reacted the same way he is accusing her of currently being. When she returns after her lunch break, _Diana_ is written in scrawled, messy handwriting as what she'll be using for hers.

She signs off on it, knowing perfectly well that they are both playing with fire, waiting to see who burns first.

The flight to Phoenix is tense, and is only made worse by the turbulence that occurs almost as soon as the plane lifts off from the runway. 

Her dislike of flying has tempered since air travel is more or less a requirement expected from the nature of her profession, but today it returns with a vengeance when the plane shudders around them, and dips down with more force than it should. The flashing light overhead informs everyone to put on their seatbelts. Hers was never off, but she secures it more tightly, and grips the armrests on either side of her as an extra precaution. 

Mulder notices. Of course he does.

"Hey, we're fine," he says in a soothing tone. His right hand reaches out for her but when she visibly jerks away from it, he blanches and drops it back to his side. She can see the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows. "We're fine," he says again, but his voice is uneven.

Inexplicably, Scully finds herself blinking back tears. "No, we're not," she snaps at him. "We're nowhere even _close_ to fine."

Neither of them are talking about the turbulence.

The resort is called the Happy Nest which is horrible name as well as ironic one since none of their recent clientele has left remaining in such a mood for long. They are both dressed casually—him in a polo shirt and shorts, and her in a loose-fitting sundress—but she suspects from the way the man at the reception straightens up at their approach that the impression they give off is anything but relaxed. 

"Welcome to the Happy Nest! Ed and Diana, I presume?"

To Mulder's credit, he barely reacts. "That's us."

"I'm Cornelius Jones, the manager at this resort. You can call me Neil," he says. Mulder and Scully exchange a wary glance as he pulls up their details on the computer. "I wanted to greet you myself since it is our utmost imperative to provide for your every need during your stay with us. I see you've booked the luxury suite. Excellent choice. Nicholas, take their bags to their rooms, would you?"

The bellboy grabs their luggage and pulls it into the elevator before they can protest. "Such great service," she mutters, knowing that their belongings are most likely being searched over for goods to steal later.

"Only the best for our visitors." Neil peers at the considerable space between the two of them with a furrowed brow. She shuffles slightly closer to Mulder. _Newlyweds,_ Scully reminds herself, _they're supposed to be newlyweds._ "So, how long did it take for you two to finally tie the knot?"

"Six years, I guess," she says, deciding to stick to real facts that are easier to remember.

"You guess? A beautiful woman like yourself must have been counting down the days waiting for your man to propose."

Already, Scully feels a headache forming at her temple. Mulder seems to sense this and takes over the conversation instead. "Not my, uh, girl. It took three tries before I got her to say yes to me."

She refrains from making a derisive remark. It's just like him to play the martyr, even in a situation like this.

The manager lets out a low whistle. "You're a lucky, lucky, man then."

Mulder grabs her hand, and before she catches on to what he's doing, lifts it to his lips. He presses a single, chaste kiss on her knuckles, right above the fake wedding ring she's wearing. "I remind myself of that fact every day," he says, and for a moment, she almost lets herself believe him.

She had the opportunity to leave once, twice; multiple times, the option was presented to her as a possibility. Take it and go. That's all she had to do. Simple. She could operate on live people, instead of dissecting the dead, and earn a decent salary befitting her medical background to boot. Her career at the FBI and the X-Files would become nothing but a memory of days since gone by. Her mother supported her going; encouraged it, even. "Dana, this job—it's killing you," she insisted. "Just quit."

Maybe it is. Certainly, it's tried to, more than once. But how could she explain to her that it also kept her alive, and she did not only mean it in the literal sense of the chip implanted in the back of her neck?

"I won't," Scully told her in the end, as always. She made the choice to stay, and continues to make it, and each time she does, she thinks about her abduction. She thinks about government cover-ups, and conspiracies, and the infinite unknown. She thinks about what it means to find the truth. She thinks about Mulder.

She means, _I can't._

The majority of this case involves flaunting their perceived wealth and waiting for the manager to be reeled in by it. Other than that, there isn't much to do since Financial Crimes has everything else covered. Scully is acutely aware of this as she scans the card to enter their room. It's a nice room, far nicer and much more expensive than any of the places they've ever stayed in on the FBI budget, which is a plus, she supposes. 

"There's no couch," Mulder says, dumbfounded.

"This is a honeymoon suite," she points out. "I doubt whoever planned out this room expected the occupants to want to sleep separately. We'll just have to share the bed." Scully adds, reminding him, "We've shared one before."

"Yes, but—" _Never like this_ , he doesn't say. Never when things have been so uncertain between them. Scully doesn't need him to finish his sentence; she can read between the lines well enough.

Alone, here, with him, the room suddenly feels so much smaller. She feels antsy. She is itching for a fight, Scully realises, and it must be unhealthy, how desperately she wants their conversation to dissolve into an argument. The best reason she can think of is that it's an easier alternative than the possibility of talking about more serious topics she isn't ready for. "Worried about what Diana will think?"

He clenches his jaw. "Scully."

"What?"

"I'm not with her," he says firmly. "I slept with her, but we're not together."

"Not now," she corrects him.

"Not _ever._ "

A pause. Scully considers his words.

"If it wasn't Diana, whose practices and philosophy I am directly opposed against," she says carefully, before she can stop herself, "I wouldn't have been bothered by it."

"Bothered by what?"

She hesitates. "You. Sleeping with someone."

Mulder casts her a challenging look. _Liar,_ it says. "Are you sure about that?"

No. She isn't.

The problem, Scully knows, is that they have always been far too possessive of one another. Perhaps it is because their partnership was never supposed to last, and others actively tried to separate them, that they became closer than two co-workers should be, desperately fighting against the odds. _You're making this personal_ _,_ he'd said to her, but when was it not? Was there a time since they met when their lives were not so intertwined that they were practically one and the same? If so, she wants to pinpoint the exact moment so she can take it all back.

(That's a lie. She would never do that. Not even for a second.)

The barest hint of morning light filters through the gap in-between the curtains.

On the bed, Scully rolls over to her side. Mulder is still asleep. Presented with this rare opportunity, she watches him. She has slept in his presence many times, but scarcely does the opposite occur unless he is hurt or sick. The profile of his face is made of straight lines and sharp angles, but with his expression slackened in sleep he looks softer; unguarded. Emboldened, she traces a tentative finger across his bottom lip and feels a puff of warm air as he breathes, inaudibly, through his slightly open mouth—the same mouth that almost touched hers, all those months ago.

Half-shrouded in darkness waiting for the full force of the sun to indicate the start of a new day, Scully allows herself to want. It is becoming more and more difficult to act like she doesn't want this, want _him_ , and she is afraid because she has already risked so much. More than anything, she wants things to go back to normal but what _is_ normal for them? Did it ever really exist?

As if hearing her thoughts, Mulder stirs awake. She makes a move to draw her hand away, but his own hand shoots up and holds her in place. His eyes meet hers. She holds her breath, trying not to panic. Slowly, he rubs his thumb from her open palm down to her wrist, and back and forth again, worn callouses scraping across delicate skin.

"Morning," he says, roughly, voice still coarse with sleep. Later, she knows, they will pretend this never happened, but right now he is looking at her as if he'd rather be nowhere else and she wants, she wants, she _wants._

"Morning," Scully says inaudibly, barely mouthing the word back at him. She does not pull away. Instead, she waits for him to let her go.

It takes much, much longer than it should.

"Diana was there at the very beginning when I got involved with the X-Files."

"And I've been with you since. Doesn't that count for something?"

"You tried to leave too, Scully."

"But I'm still here. Mulder, that's the difference between me and her— _I'm still here_."

"I think they might be onto the fact that we're federal agents."

They're sitting by the pool and Mulder has a pair of binoculars poised in the direction of their room, waiting for Cornelius "Neil" The Manager to sneak inside. Two days have passed and so far they've had no luck. She can tell from Mulder's complete lack of discretion and general disinterest that he doesn't care much for outcome of the case. Truth be told, she doesn't either, but at least she has the decency to keep up the appearance of someone who does.

Mulder puts down the binoculars and looks over at her from his lounger. His sunglasses slide halfway down his nose. "Gee, I wonder what's giving us away?" he asks in a droll tone. "Is it because you always seem to be six feet apart from me? Or is it how neither of us seem to be remotely enjoying each other's company? What do you think, Scully?"

"We don't make a good couple," is all she says.

He shrugs, but the move seems too carefully affected to pass as casual. "We don't need to be a good couple—just a believable one."

"How do you propose we do that, Mulder?"

"Simple. We pretend. That's what _this_ ," he makes a sweeping motion at everything around them, "is all about anyway. Resort managers and the rest of the workers pretending to care about the people who come here instead of their wallets. Us, acting as newlyweds—it's all pretend."

"It's all pretend," she repeats.

"Exactly. We can do that can't we, Scully? For the case?" Mulder looks terribly earnest, and her resolve, it weakens, just a bit.

She nods. Reluctant. But she doesn't object.

"Of course. For the case."

There is a dress in Scully's closet more expensive than anything else she owns. It's a silk dress that she purchased years ago, back when she went on semi-regular dates and was still invited to work dinners. The colour was what first attracted her to it: a dark navy that almost resembled midnight, except when it caught the light at certain angles, and flashed a brilliant blue.

"Dana, that dress will be the best investment you'll ever make," Melissa had assured her at the boutique store. "It brings out our Scully hair."

She bought it and even though the fit was slightly off on Melissa, it ended up being her sister who wore the dress more than Scully did herself. But since Melissa is no longer here, the dress now hangs at the back of her closet hidden behind work appropriate shirts and trousers and long-sleeved jackets.

Every now and then though, Scully will catch a glimpse of it while looking for something else to wear and she'll try it on, admiring herself in front of the mirror and surprising herself with the fact that it still fits. It's a conscious decision that she's never worn it in front of Mulder even though there have been opportunities over the years, few as there were.

Once, they were invited to a FBI charity ball at Skinner's behest and she laid out the dress on her bed, contemplating the plunging neckline and thigh slit that went against her usual styling choices. She thought about surprising Mulder and watching his eyes darken in the way it does sometimes during long car rides when she shifts in her seat and forgets to straighten her skirt back to a wholly appropriate length. The thought of it was—nice. Very nice.

But then she remembered herself. Put the dress back on the hanger. Picked out a conservative no-nonsense black number instead.

Better, Scully thought. This was better.

On the other side of the door, Mulder asks, "What gaudy over-expensive outfit courtesy of the FBI will you be wearing tonight?" He is already in his suit. She doesn't reply; doesn't tell him that this dress is one that she brought with her on a (intentional) whim. _It's all pretend,_ she reminds herself. It doesn't have to mean anything. She unlocks the bathroom door and steps out. Mulder sits up on the mattress.

A beat of silence.

"So?" she asks uneasily. She does not need his opinion, Scully knows, but she wants it anyway. This is an important distinction. 

" _Wow_ ," he says, a single word, and nothing thereafter; only gazes at her with a quiet, hungry appreciation that makes her cheeks flush.

They play up their roles as a loved-up couple for dinner. In the few steps it takes to walk to their table, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in close enough that she can smell the faint scent of his aftershave. She holds his hand as they take their orders and makes sure anyone watching them can see her smile brightly at him. Inwardly though, she feels foolish—the entire evening a poor attempt at charades—and Mulder registers her discomfort. He squeezes her hand. Their food arrives and she forgoes the steak. Spears a fork into the salad instead. 

"Relax," he says.

"We look ridiculous," she hisses at him. "We don't even know if the manager has people keeping their eyes on us."

"Oh, he definitely has his people watching—that guy is a hawk, Scully. We're just two people having dinner. Surely, you've been on a date before."

"It's been a while," she says coolly. She takes a long swig of her wine and the waiter rushes to refill her glass. Scully makes a note to leave a generous tip.

Mulder leaves his own drink untouched. "Same here, but I still remember the motions of what a dinner date entails."

Scully regards him sceptically, but doesn't comment further. _But Diana,_ is too common a phrase nowadays that bookends the beginning and close of their conversations. It doesn't help that it's her name during this case either. "I'm tired," she confesses without preamble. It is not something she meant to say, but they've made a habit of only revealing themselves in hidden messages and half-sentences lately, so why stop now. "I'm really damn tired of this, Mulder."

Mulder looks at her steadily. "Don't go," he says. He does not only mean her leaving the restaurant. 

Scully slides out her hand from underneath his. Keeps her voice level. Their plan to project themselves as the image of a content couple unravels before she even realises it's happening. "Why do you always do that?" she asks, harshly.

"Do what?"

"Assume that I _want_ to leave."

A dry chuckle. "I'm not exactly used to the alternative."

Scully has the sudden urge for a cigarette. She settles for another sip of wine. "Despite what you think, I'm not going anywhere."

"Then why are you acting as if you are?"

"I'm not. I just wish that you would—" she breaks off. Exhales sharply. 

"I would," Mulder prompts.

This, of course, is the chance to expand upon how inadequate he has made her feel these past few months. She could address their partnership and how fragile it seems to be at the moment but then she would need to talk about Diana as well. And maybe their relationship is one of work colleagues, but they are friends too and so much more. But it's just that word—more. Diana's appearance has drawn out the sides of them they've been content on pretending didn't exist.

Ignorance can only be used for so long and for them, it is quickly set on expiring, she realises. 

Scully stands up. A few people look over at them but she doesn't pay them any heed. "I need some fresh air."

Mulder pulls out his wallet and tosses a few bills on the table. "I'll join you."

They won't be returning.

Scully heads back into the direction of their room, her attire making it difficult to move fast. The combination of the alcohol setting in as well causes her to stumble slightly. Mulder catches her by the elbow. "Easy there," he says.

She shakes him off and keeps walking. "Mulder, you know when I said I wanted some fresh air that I meant I wanted some space from you, right?"

He follows close behind. "I did, but you don't get to do that, Scully. You don't get to shut me out."

"I'm not shutting you out," she retorts. "I just told you I wanted some space. It's a very simple request."

"That's the same thing!"

"It's not." She starts walking again, picking up her pace. They reach the door to their room and she stops. Mulder comes to a halt as well. Scully spins on her heel to look at him. "Does it ever occur to you that being around you can be suffocating at times?"

"Constantly," Mulder says. "But you've dealt with me for years, so what's changed?"

Nothing. Everything. Even if she wanted to, she doesn't know how to articulate her pain and fears and worries. The one thing that stands out with absolute clarity though is this: Diana would not allow herself to be in this situation. The other woman takes and takes and _takes_ everything she finds of value in Mulder and while that disgusts Scully—that selfishness, that disregard for the chaos she would leave behind—there is a part of her that envies that impulse.

"It's not fair," she whispers. She grasps at the end of his tie. Tugs him down.

Mulder lowers his head until they are eye-to-eye with each other. "What's not fair?"

"You didn't choose me," she says, and covers his mouth with hers to prevent him from answering. He draws back a bit, startled, but she winds the tie in the grip of her fist and pulls him in close. He relaxes then, and she takes advantage of it, coaxes his mouth open with hers. His hands reach up to cradle the back of her head, reverent, gentle, but she doesn't want that—doesn't want gentle. She maneuvers them a few steps back so she's leaning in front of the door and hoists herself up, wrapping her legs around his hips. 

"Scully," he murmurs against her mouth.

She kisses back harder, fumbles for the keycard in her purse and swipes it impatiently at the lock while jiggling the handle. "Don't talk," she tells him.

The door opens and he carries her inside, swinging it shut with a kick behind him. He deposits her on the bed and strokes her cheeks with his thumbs. She holds his hands and moves them under her dress, lets him ruck the material above her thighs and does not relinquish her mouth from his until he pulls away far enough that she can't reach him. "We should though," he says. The words are strangled; he is out of breath. It is satisfying, she thinks, seeing him undone. 

Scully leverages herself up and rolls them both over so she's on top. "No talking." She means it. She doesn't want him to say anything else because if he does, it'll be a distraction, an interruption, and Scully is sick of having it happen to them. "I just want this to actually happen for once," she says more to herself than him. "Just once."

Mulder grows serious. A crease forms on his forehead. "No, Scully. This isn't a good idea."

She unbuttons his shirt determinedly. "You're wrong."

He starts to sit up but she pushes him down again. "I can't have sex with you—not like this."

The sting of rejection is jarring. "Why not?" she questions him angrily. "Why would you sleep with Diana and not me?"

"I'm not in love with Diana."

There's nothing she can say to that; she drops her hands away from him. 

"Stay," Mulder says to her and holds out his hand, palm-side up.

He offers her a choice.


End file.
